Golden Hour
by DustieRhoades
Summary: Kaidan puts his newly found watching skills to work as he spies on Kasumi. Impressed, she gives him a gift neither one was expecting. (Implied polyamory.) All characters owned by BioWare.


A/N: This story continues the one that began in _At the Start_ where Kaidan and Kasumi begin to unravel a lot of feelings about one another brought on by their agreement to begin a polyamorous relationship with Shepard (Io'ken).

I appreciate all of the wonderful feedback I got on _At the Start_ and I because of that I feel the need to flesh out Kaidan's and Kasumi's story more and more. These two have become a real joy to explore and write about, so I hope that you enjoy reading about them!

For context, all Alento stories take place between the Citadel party and the end of ME3.

* * *

The red lights from the strip lit the apartment with a soft glow, near enough to a sunrise or sunset, depending on the time of day. Today felt different in that regard, it was one of those rare occasions where it actually felt akin to an Earth sunset, the russet light seemed to fall a bit lower, the shadows appeared to be a bit longer. For all the wonders and grandeur of the Citadel, it didn't hold a candle to a slow, warm summer afternoon on Earth. Today though, today held the air of their home planet. Perhaps there was nothing changed at all, or maybe the keepers had figured a way to angle the lights just so, either way, it was a welcome feeling.

A light, musical sound could be heard from the reading nook upstairs and a quick glance around would have clued anyone in on the culprit. There was a pair of ballet style flats waiting next to the front door, while the downstairs bedroom housed a small mess of bags, several of which were so understated it only proved that they were from some incredibly high end shops.

Kaidan stalked up the stairs, not really wanting to disturb any scene that may be happening at the top, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. Perhaps it was the light, or the bags, but he knew it would be special, whatever it was that he found.

It had been mentioned, briefly, once before, a fact of a past that was still hidden to him. He had carried it for some time now as it was one that had been freely given at the time.

"I used to dance," she had said, "ballet, actually, and I loved it," was how she had finished it. The admission had piqued his interest at the time and no amount of further probing since then had garnered any new information or demonstrations.

It was evident that she had studied the art, that is, if one stopped to watch her for any amount of time. There was an element of grace that followed her every movement. A control over her limbs that others didn't necessarily possess. He supposed that part of her training had lent itself well to her chosen profession. After all being the best thief in the business didn't allow for any hesitation, no half-meant motions. Dancing, he imagined, was quite the same.

A small, tattered stack of books was on the table in the center of the nook. She was standing tip-toe, nose close to the bindings on the shelf in front of her. A piano concerto played on the upstairs speakers.

In time he hoped that he'd be able to easily place the piece and composer. It was a game of sorts between them. She had been teasing and quizzing him for weeks about musical greats that had lived hundreds of years ago. He had been doing the same with his favorite and albeit, more modern, rock bands. Both of them struggled at times, but it always made them laugh. Slowly, but surely, the answers would come.

At the top of the stairs he paused and leaned against the railing, admiring her well-toned calves, the elegant curve of her back, partially hidden by a dark, mirror-like sheaf of hair. At first glance one might think her a frail slip of a thing, but he knew different. There was strength in her, a depth of power that was belied by her tiny stature. That false belief, that snap judgement, was something she used to her benefit. She found a level of glee by proving those assumptions wrong. A smile bloomed on his lips as he thought of the last time a merc had landed on their ass when she took them down with ease.

His vision lingered on her pert and tiny bottom. Fingers twitched at the memory of him filling his hands with it the last time he had pulled her close. They had been sharing a happy moment and he had unabashedly grabbed her to plant a kiss on her lips. His hands had wandered and she had smiled when he did it, making their kiss sweet and awkward in the best way. Shepard had tried to hide a smug smile when they broke apart, but he had seen it.

Time had granted them so much already and he found himself so happy to know that there had been more and more of those close moments of late. At the start of this whole thing he had doubted that they would fit together. It had become clear that they did and in ways that differed than what he had ever suspected.

When this journey of his began all those years ago, he never would have thought that one love would bring him another. It was a blessing, for life to have given him two beautiful and entirely different people to care for.

Deft fingers transferred a book from one hand to the other as she shelved it away, clearly having finally found the correct spot for it. The tight tendons in her heels hid again, the delicate V that had stood out so starkly a moment before disappeared as she lowered herself from the tips of her toes back to the floor. A satisfied look crossed her features as she turned to the table, ready to grab the next title for filing.

There was a moment of surprise when she caught him watching, but it was quickly replaced by a bright, dazzling smile. He felt himself grinning in return, but neither of them made moves towards one another. A tiny bit of pride spread over him when he realized she approved of his stealthy observation.

It was another thing that he had been learning, one specific to her, the talent of watching, and waiting.

Now that she knew she was putting on a show though, there was clearly a bit of added performance and even perhaps a tease in the way she moved. She went slowly at times, bending over instead of squatting for a low shelf, arching her back for higher ones. The stack on the table became shorter as he watched, her movements tactical in the best way possible.

The room suddenly felt hot. From the knowing looking on her face, that was exactly as she intended.

A final, slim title slid snugly into place with one finger as the last notes faded on the sound system.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he pushed himself away from the railing and stood at the top of the stairs, wondering what his next move should be. He desperately wanted to go to her, to crush her body against his, but he stopped. It just didn't feel right.

He knew she knew it too, there was a spark in her eye that told him she would welcome it, wanted him to take her, but she made no move towards him either.

They stood in silence, the light red and orange around them, filling the space. Then the next track came on after a few seconds and the quiet melody from the piano broke the moment.

It played for several seconds before she started to move slowly. He thought that it was towards him, but instead her arm raised and her posture changed. She stood taller, carried herself differently. Muscles stood out sharply in her calves and arms, and then she stood tip-toe, spun, and threw her head back with the motion, her hair following, dark and shining behind the movement.

He knew nothing of ballet, in fact, might have thought it an art too old for him, but now, watching her, he was mesmerized. Everything about her was controlled but fluid, even to the tips of her fingers, which danced on their own, perfect and delicate. Her eyes were closed, and he could tell that she was looking inward, remembering something long forgotten.

The steps and turns she took could have been from memory or simply made up on the spot, it didn't matter to him. She was so small, beautiful, and strong. His heart sang at the thought that this was somehow for him as much as it was for her. That she was sharing something of herself he didn't feel worthy of getting. For all of the doubts and fears, the awkward getting to know each other moments they had been dealing with, this was an intimate offering he would always cherish.

As she danced, he knew that this was it, he was done for. There was no going back now. Shepard had known, of course she had, that this would happen eventually. They had made their deal, knew the score, figured it all out that day at Apollo's, but this person, this gift, was something he never expected. It was stamped on his heart. He would protect her, just as he'd protect Shepard, with his life.

The music and her movements slowed. It was then that he realized she was crying. All semblance of space, of their proximity to each other was forgotten as he grabbed her up and cradled her against his chest. She was shaking, her breath short and gasping. His shirt was immediately wet as she gripped at him and wrapped her legs around his waist as she pulled herself as close as possible.

It hurt, knowing that she had said she hadn't danced in a long time, but that she did just now for him, without preamble. _And now this_. There was still so much he didn't know, wasn't sure of, and the tears this time clearly came from that old place of hers, one long before she was a thief, before the grey box, before Shepard, before him.

Tears slid down her cheeks as he carried her to his bedroom. He set her down on the bed, but she refused to let go, pulling him down next to her. The piano was still playing in the reading nook as he wrapped her small body up, tucking her head under his chin, hugging her tightly. There wasn't anything he could say, nothing to help her with whatever it was that she was feeling. The cause was lost to him, so instead he held her close while the knowledge of his newly discovered feelings coursed through his heart and head.

 _I love her._

Her tears were quiet, muffled by his shirt. He held her as the tide of her emotions brought her closer to him than they had ever been before.

* * *

It was sometime later when he awoke. Kasumi was still cuddled against him. The light outside was dark. The piano done. He was groggy, but happy and happier still when he saw the other arm wrapped around the person in front of him. Io'ken had come home at some point and she was curled against Kasumi from the other side, her face calm and serene in sleep. The thief's tears had vanished, but her eyes were puffy and red and her black hair stuck to her face in places.

His hoped that in time she would be able to tell him what it was that stirred in her that afternoon. Hoped that someday she would be able to confide in him and would elaborate on all those memories and feelings that she kept locked away. For now, the gift of the dance would be enough.

The Citadel night wrapped them up, dark in the vastness of space. He watched as Io smiled sweetly, her arm flexing tightly over Kasumi. Their breath was slow and low, matching harmoniously without trying. He pushed black hair back from a brow before he leaned over to kiss Shepard lightly. Another kiss was bestowed upon Kasumi following that. A feeling of contentment washed over him as a smile ghosted over her lips as well. Sleep was quieting her mind, he hoped, as he watched her, yet again.

There was regret that his realization came with such a cost to her, and he prayed that the benefit would outweigh the pain.

They were two sides to the same coin. No one person deserved that much, yet life had chosen to give it to him.

 _I love them both_.


End file.
